


the new kid

by foundCarcosa



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Canon, Daveth Lives, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2528828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daveth Lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the new kid

He’d run from the place of his birth with nothing but rags and desperation. He’d found his way to Denerim and sketched out the meanest of livings, and did not complain once, because he knew no different.

… And because he was much too cowardly to die.

—

Duncan’s hand clamped around the cutpurse’s wrist like a steel vise, wrenching the hand away with an expert twist. The boy — no, no boy; a young man, tall and sinewy and scruffy — stared impudently up at him, dark eyes flashing and lips twisting in sour disappointment, and Duncan’s eyebrows raised.

It was like looking into a mirror.

—

"What’d you go and do that for?" Daveth asked bluntly as they passed through the city gates, still rubbing his wrists where the irons had been clamped not too long ago.

"The Grey Wardens need recruits," Duncan answered, with a mild shrug.

"That ain’t it. You could recruit anybody, same way you did me. Why’d you choose me? Punishment?"

Duncan chuckled. “Punishment’s what I saved you from, boy. No, this isn’t a punishment.”

"I ain’t lookin’ to be reformed or nothin’," Daveth muttered.

"Then you’ll fit right in."

—

When Duncan handed him the chalice, Daveth was hit with a feeling so alien that he stood dumb for a moment, staring at the dark, viscous liquid.

"Go on, son," Duncan murmured, and Daveth stared at him then, and thought, _I ain’t your son. Ain’t nobody’s._

The moment the sanguine concoction touched his lips, he recognised the feeling with sudden clarity.  
He was _going_ to survive this, Maker be damned. Because suddenly, he really fucking wanted to.  
He was going to _live._

—

Duncan had a few last thoughts as the world swirled dizzily around him, as he collapsed to his knees and found that he’d quite forgotten how to get back up.

He thought of Cailan, and of Fiona, and of Genevieve, and of Alistair, but there was also one solitary, almost amused thought—

_Well, at least I found a miniature version of myself to take my place._

—

Daveth blinked his eyes open in an unfamiliar hut, and found he was completely intact.  
 _Maybe there is a bloody Maker, after all. I sure as hell don’t deserve this._

"So what do we do now?" he asked Alistair some time later, as the sunset painted the Wilds in shades of ochre and olive.

"What else? Be Wardens," Alistair replied, a bit glumly, and Daveth laughed, because no matter what, that was a good sight better than being dead.


End file.
